


Regarding Broomsticks and Apologies

by Drunkonturpentine



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Quidditch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 15:02:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20894018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drunkonturpentine/pseuds/Drunkonturpentine
Summary: Percy didn't get a chance to smooth over their row before Oliver wound up in the infirmary.





	Regarding Broomsticks and Apologies

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 2019 Whumptober challenge and originally posted on Tumblr. The daily prompt was "delirium."
> 
> This is my first attempt at writing Perciver...no idea where it came from, honestly! This ship hit me outta nowhere, man. But they're cute, so I decided to run with it. This is really more hurt/comfort than true whump, which can be said of all my prompt fills lately. I can't do Big Angst right now, it seems, so I'm leaning into the fluff instinct. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)

It had been a stupid fight, really. A stupid, childish row that would have been forgotten about by both parties the very next morning.

Except Oliver was in the infirmary now suffering from Merlin knows what, and Percy was hovering outside the heavy wooden door, making himself sick with worry.

It had started out as the usual squabble; Percy prioritizing schoolwork, Oliver putting quidditch above everything else. They’d gotten into it in the dormitory early that morning when Percy had announced that he needed to spend the day revising for his Potions OWL and would not be attending the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match that afternoon.

“You’ve been revising for your OWLs since first year, Perce,” Oliver had reasoned. “It’s the quarterfinal! You can’t _skip_ it.”

Percy had just scoffed at him, replying coolly, “Some of us have ambitions beyond the pitch, you know.”

The argument had escalated to a full-blown fight before either of them had had a mind to stop it. They’d both said some nasty things; Percy cringed as he remembered shouting at Oliver that if he loved his stupid broomstick so much, he could take it to Hogsmeade next weekend instead of Percy. Oliver had stormed out in a huff to eat breakfast with his teammates, Percy had thrown himself into his studies in the library, and they hadn’t seen each other since.

Percy did not go to the match, true to his word. He didn’t get much revising done either, though, his guilt and worry over the row with Oliver distracting him all afternoon from the recipes he was trying to memorize. He left the library around three in a defeated mood, heading toward the kitchens to see about getting a snack from a sympathetic house elf. He stopped when he heard a commotion from the courtyard.

A few students were coming back inside from the match, still decked out in scarves and buttons in their house colors. They were talking in a breathless rush as they walked, their heads low.

“I’ve never seen a fall that bad. I’ve never seen a _hit_ that bad, honestly.”

“Will he be out for the season, d’you reckon?”

“Dunno. It was a nasty hit, but you know Wood. He’d try to play with two broken arms and two broken legs.”

Percy’s stomach dropped through his shoes. He made a beeline for the infirmary, unable to think past his panic beyond _is he okay, is he okay, is he okay_.

Madam Pomfrey met him at the door. “Are you ill, Mr. Weasley?” she asked.

Percy craned his neck, trying to look past the matron for any sign that Oliver was in one of the beds and in one piece. She cleared her throat and he startled, his eyes snapping back to hers. “Sorry, I—no, I’m fine. Is Oliver Wood here? Only I heard he had a fall, and—”

“You didn’t see it? Gave the whole pitch quite a turn, I think.” She smiled at him briefly, her face tired but kind. “Wood will be fine in a few days, but he needs to rest. I can’t let visitors in just now.”

So Percy found himself waiting in the corridor outside the infirmary until nightfall. The rest of the Gryffindor team—who’d miraculously won the match despite the loss of their star player—came to check on Oliver once they’d gotten off the pitch, leaving an assortment of sweets and some playing cards for him. Percy packed everything up in his bag, feeling a strange sense of duty to watch over Oliver’s gifts until he was allowed in to see him. Penelope Clearwater turned up at half past six with a bacon sandwich and an apple for Percy, which he ate from his spot on the floor across from the infirmary, his back pressed against the castle wall and his eyes trained on the door handle.

By eight, he was seriously considering breaking school rules for the first time ever and sneaking into the room when the door opened and Madam Pomfrey beckoned him inside.

“You’ll have to keep your voice down; I have several students asleep in here, including Mr. Wood,” she murmured as Percy followed fast on her heels as they walked past the rows of beds. He nodded solemnly, trying to convey to the matron that he wasn’t the noisy type. She seemed to accept that, and she guided him to the foot of Oliver’s bed before making her way into her office. Percy’s heart pounded as he finally looked down.

Oliver’s eyes were closed, his face drawn and pale in a way Percy had never seen before and instantly hated. There were bandages wrapped neatly around his head; Percy’s stomach clenched as he took in the dried patches of red-brown where blood had seeped through. On top of the head wound, it looked like Oliver had broken his wrist. A bottle of Skele-Gro stood half-empty next to a glass of water on the bedside tray. His was covered in scrapes and bruises, and his ruined uniform was covered in blood and grass stains.

Percy swallowed around the lump in his throat and sat down heavily in a chair beside the bed, his knees inches from Oliver’s shoulder. He was still for a long moment, just watching the even rise and fall of Oliver’s chest, before he set his bag down at his feet and distracted himself by taking out all of Oliver’s gifts one by one. He arranged each of them on the tray around the medicine and the water, careful not to disturb the bed. Finally, he sat back in the chair with a sigh and stared down at Oliver’s face.

“You aren’t allowed to do that, you know,” Percy said quietly. “Go out there and nearly die after we’ve had a fight. It isn’t fair.”

Silence settled over them again, and the moon had risen fully in the sky by the time it was broken. Percy startled as Oliver groaned and cracked his eyes open. “‘Lo, Perce,” he croaked, offering a lopsided attempt at a smile.

Percy was hit with a rush of relief so intense it made his throat tight. “Hello,” he replied, surprised at how steady his voice sounded. “You should sleep, Oliver.”

“Wha’—” Oliver slurred, his gaze unfocused where it met Percy’s. “Wha’ happened?”

Delirium, Percy thought. He’d seen that glassy-eyed expression enough times to recognize it. Sometimes he wondered if he was the only member of Gryffindor house who hadn’t ended up in one of Madam Pomfrey’s beds, bandaged and drugged and muttering _worth it_ while being force fed Skele-Gro.

“You fell off your broom, idiot. After taking a nasty hit, apparently.”

“Mm.” Oliver winced as he shifted against the mattress, and Percy was about to call the matron when Oliver’s pained expression smoothed out as he got comfortable. “Win?” he asked fuzzily in lieu of a full sentence.

“Yes, you won. Somehow.”

Oliver’s hand found Percy’s on the edge of the bed and covered it, squeezing briefly. “‘M sorry,” he said after a moment. “For before. The fight.”

“You should be,” Percy replied, but there was no real bite behind it. He moved to hold Oliver’s hand in both his own, the backs of his hands resting against the starch-white sheets. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, and meant it.

He leaned back in his seat but kept his hands where they were as Oliver drifted, feeling his panic finally subside as the knowledge that Oliver was alive with all his limbs attached began to sink in. He still felt horrible that Oliver was hurt, especially because he hadn’t been there. Especially because the last conversation they’d had was a shouting match.

Oliver mumbled something that sounded like “stay” before he went quiet again, and Percy nodded to himself in the dark room. He’d always intended to stay the night, even if he had to sleep in the corridor.

He didn’t say anything as he pressed a gentle kiss to the bandages over Oliver’s forehead, but Oliver gave his hand one last squeeze before succumbing to sleep, and Percy thought it might have been enough.


End file.
